


Broken

by Rosawyn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, Angst, Awkwardness, First Impressions, First Meetings, Flirting, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage, Prompt Fill, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1899072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ward first meets Trip's cute friend, he is prepared for a challenge.  He just isn't quite as prepared as he'd thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous prompt on Tumblr. 
> 
> Warning: this fic contains non-explicit discussion of previous non-con situations, including underage non-con.

The first time Grant Ward sees him, he's wearing a short-sleeved plaid-patterned shirt buttoned right up to the top with no tie. It's almost like he's one of the 'before' examples on one of those 'queer guys tell you what not to wear' shows that Grant never watches, because how lame would that be, anyway? Grant Ward never needed anyone else's advice on how to dress himself, thank you very much. But this curly-haired little guy in his hilariously awkward shirt is probably the most adorable thing Grant has ever seen.

“That guy you were talking to earlier today, friend of yours?” Grant asks Trip as the two of them are clocking out at the end of their shift—mall cops, but the uniforms aren't too bad, though Grant has yet to decide if it's Trip or himself who makes it look better. Obviously, Melinda's got them both beat, but she's just _unfair_ ; everything about her is unfair.

Trip chuckles. “I think I probably talked to a few different guys today, Ward; you're going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“Uh...” Grant grimaces thoughtfully. “Young-ish, sort of light brown curly hair, maybe about five-seven, five-eight...” He'd rather not use words like 'cute,' since not only would that make his interest obvious, but attractiveness is entirely subjective. “He was wearing a shirt, you know, all buttoned up.” Grant gestures towards his own neck. “With no tie.”

Trip raises an eyebrow at him. “That's a bit more specific than I expected, but that's Fitz. And yeah, he's a friend.”

Okay, so maybe Grant has made his interest obvious anyway. He grins, a little self-conscious and not quite sure what to say next, but Trip ultimately takes pity on him.

“I can introduce you.” But he holds up a hand in warning. “You gotta be nice to him, though, Ward; Fitz is a good kid. Real smart—works as an engineer, building robots and crap. And he's sensitive, a bit awkward, but...” He shakes his head. “I don't wanna see him get hurt.”

Grant nods; he wouldn't want to see Fitz get hurt either. And since there's no use bluffing at this point, Grant asks, “So he dates guys?”

“Doesn't really 'date' anyone,” Trip says. “Not while I've known him, anyway, but...he's like you: interested in both.” He slaps Grant on the bicep. “Don't worry; you've got a chance.” He grins broadly, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Probably a real small one, but a chance.”

That's fine; Grant Ward doesn't mind having the odds stacked against him. That just makes it a challenge.

o0o

The three of them meet up at a pub for drinks two days later. Grant is already there when Trip and Fitz walk in. He stands up to shake hands.

“Fitz,” Trip says, placing a hand on Fitz's shoulder, “I'd like you to meet my co-worker, Grant Ward.” He turns to Grant, “Ward, this my friend, Leo Fitz.” And of course 'Fitz' would be his last name.

“Do you mind if I call you Leo?” Grant asks as they all slide into the booth, Fitz and Trip sitting across from Grant.

Fitz looks confused. “Mo-most everyone calls me Fitz.”

“It's fine.” Grant tries for a reassuring smile. “I can call you Fitz if you'd like.” He makes his smile more charming. “You can call me Grant if you want, or Ward.” He shrugs. “Doesn't matter to me either way.”

“Fine, I, uh.” Fitz's gaze darts around, nervous. “Grant then?”

How a grown adult with a university degree and an actual career can be this completely, beautifully, terribly, painfully, adorably unsure of himself, Grant can't begin to understand. He grins, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “Grant will be just fine.”

After Grant has finished his third drink—Trip's had two and Fitz is still working on his first, and that just makes him even more adorable—Grant looks purposefully at Fitz and cocks his head towards the dance floor where several couples are swaying to some mournful country song. “Do you dance?”

“No,” Fitz replies quickly, then blushes and stammers, glancing from the surface of the table to Grant and back, sliding his glass back and forth so the ice makes soft tinkling sounds. “I—I mean—” He lets out a soft huff, glancing up at Grant. “It's not that I wouldn't want to...with you. I just—I don't—in public.”

Grant smiles, warm and lopsided, and leans further across the table. Trip rolls his eyes and mutters something about needing to use the restroom before sliding out of the booth. Grant quirks an eyebrow at Fitz and makes his voice low, lazy, and sensual. “So is in private an option then?”

Fitz blushes. He doesn't look angry, offended, or upset. He's smiling, actually, so probably pleased, but a little overwhelmed, and the last thing Grant wants is to scare him off.

“Sorry,” Grant says, pulling back slightly to give Fitz some space. “I don't want you to be uncomfortable; I just...I know I just met you, but I really like you, and I'd like a chance to get to know you better, if that's okay.”

“Y-yeah.” Fitz swallows, nodding jerkily. “That's—yes, that is okay.”

They exchange phones to type their numbers into each other's contacts. When they're passing the phones back, Grant brushes his fingers against Fitz's—it could've been an accident, but it isn't.

o0o

They date for three weeks before Grant even manages to kiss Fitz, because he always pulls back or turns away with a blush and an awkward apology—there's 'playing hard to get,' and then there's Fitz who seems downright _impossible_. But it's Fitz's birthday, and Grant has made him what can only be described as an impressive steak dinner with grilled vegetables and wine and cherry cheesecake for desert—Grant bought the cheesecake; he has no idea how to make cheesecake—and just as Grant is standing up to clear away the plates, Fitz springs to his feet and grabs Grant's arm, hesitant yet determined. His voice shakes a little when he speaks, “Th-thank you; this was really great, Grant. I-it means a—a lot to me.” And then he leans in and kisses Grant, and it's trembling and feather-light and painfully unskilled, but it's perfect, because it's Fitz.

Grant wraps his hand around the back of Fitz's neck, threading his fingers through those wondrous curls, and kisses him back. Fitz might be _very_ new to kissing, but Grant has been around a few blocks a few times, so he knows some tricks. He wants to leave Fitz breathless. And at first, it seems to be working: Fitz makes a needy little sound in the back of his throat and twists both hands in Grant's shirt. But when Grant nips at his lower lip, Fitz pulls away, nearly tripping over his chair as he stumbles back several steps.

“I—” Fitz's eyes slide away from Grant and he hugs his arms across his chest as if he's cold.

Grant can't figure out what he's done wrong. He moves to follow Fitz, stepping around the chair. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-no; you—you didn't.” Fitz won't meet his eyes, turning his body away and hugging himself tighter.

“Hey...” Grant walks closer, but Fitz retreats until he runs into the couch, and then he stares up at Grant, finally meeting his gaze with wide, terrified eyes. Grant isn't sure if he should be offended, but he understands that he's an intimidating guy, so he just smiles, soft and encouraging, and reaches out to stroke Fitz's bicep soothingly. “You don't have to be afraid.”

Anger flashes like a bomb going off in Fitz's eyes, and he slaps Grant's hand away. “I'm not afraid!”

It's so obviously a lie—Fitz's lower lip is even trembling—that Grant can't help chuckling.

“Fuck you,” Fitz snaps, his glare threatening to leave actual burns on Grant's skin. It's the first time he's ever heard Fitz curse. It sounds adorable in his gorgeous Scottish accent.

“Fitz, please.” Grant reaches for him again only to have Fitz flinch away. Grant sucks in air through his teeth. “Sorry, okay? I'm sorry I laughed. That was mean.”

Fitz nods timidly, not quite meeting Grant's eyes. But it seems he's been forgiven, so Grant reaches out again and gently guides Fitz to sit next to him on the couch. Fitz lets out a breath then leans against Grant, so Grant puts his arm around him. And this is nice: cuddling. Grant rubs his hand soothingly from Fitz's elbow to his shoulder and back then reaches over with his other hand to run his fingers through Fitz's hair.

“You—you like my hair?” Fitz asks, offering Grant an awkward smile.

“I _love_ your hair,” Grant corrects, continuing to stroke those amazing curls.

“Okay,” Fitz says. “I—I mean, thanks. I—that's good...that you...like my hair.” His legs twitch like maybe he wants to run away, but he stays where he is.

“I like a lot of things about you,” Grant says, running his fingertips along the line of Fitz's jaw then brushing his thumb over his lower lip.

Fitz swallows. “You—you can kiss me again.”

So Grant does, avoiding any teeth this time in case that was what freaked Fitz out the first time.

It isn't long before Fitz is breathless, breaking the kiss to press his forehead into the curve of Grant's neck, panting. One of his hands is fisted in Grant's shirt. “You're very good at this.”

Grant chuckles. “Thank you.” He moves to mouth at Fitz's neck, sliding one hand to his waist, searching for skin under the hem of Fitz's shirt.

But as soon as his fingers make contact with that warm, smooth skin, Fitz is jumping back and all but falling off the couch in a flailing mass of limbs, knocking himself loudly against the coffee table—and Grant is sure he'll have bruises from that.

At this point, Grant is annoyed. Fitz had said he could kiss him, and he'd been kissing back, even complimenting his technique, and it's not like Grant had just grabbed for his dick or anything. This is _clearly_ an over-reaction. “What the hell, Fitz?”

“I—” Fitz is hugging himself again, and Grant realizes it's a protective gesture. “Oh, God, I—this isn't your fault. I'm sorry—I...”

Grant blows out a breath through his lips. “Then whose fault is it?”

“ _Mine_!” Fitz is shaking. “I know—I know I'm _broken_. You've been so patient.” He gives Grant a helpless, apologetic look. “I just thought I could be better this time.”

Grant frowns, confused. “What do you mean 'broken'? You're not straight.” That much was obvious. “Are you...asexual?”

Fitz shakes his head quickly. “I _want_ this; I just _can't_.”

“Why?” The question comes out a bit harder, a bit more demanding than Grant intends, but it was that or plaintive and whiny, and Grant's pride vetoed it.

Fitz turns away, staring blankly at the far wall. “There was...” He swallows. “When I was nearly twelve, my teacher...she—she wasn't old or ugly; she was in her twenties and—and _hot_ , so no one believed me when I said I hadn't wanted that.” The words scrape against the sides of his throat, rough and shrill, in their rush to escape. “And if you're going to laugh at me too and tell me how _jealous_ you are or how _lucky_ I am, then I—” His voice shatters and he squeezes his eyes shut, tears running down his cheeks.

“I—I won't laugh.” Grant's entire body feels cold. He feels like he's been punched in the gut and as if someone's fist has his heart in an unrelenting, crushing grip. “I wouldn't.”

Fitz takes a shuddering breath then continues, “She—she _hurt_ me, _physically_ hurt me, and my own father just gave me some lecture about using _protecti_ _on_ , as if I'd had some _choice_ in the matter...”

Grant feels as though he might throw up. “You were _eleven_. How—how could anyone...? Fitz...that wasn't your fault; _this_ isn't your fault.”

Fitz turns to look at him, chin still trembling and tears running in rivers down his face, but there's something in his eyes that breaks Grant's heart all over again, something that says, 'No one has ever _believed_ me before.' And then Fitz is walking back to Grant on unsteady legs and crawling into his lap, curling up against his chest and clinging to him like Grant's a life preserver tossed to someone who fell overboard in a storm. And Grant isn't even entirely sure why, but he feels like Fitz taking those few steps back to him was the bravest thing he's ever seen. He wraps his arms around Fitz and just holds him for a while, saying, “I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry _all_ of that happened to you.”

Fitz's breathing calms and his shaking stills and then finally he says, “Thank you.”

Grant strokes his hands over Fitz's shoulders. “I think _everyone_ should have believed you—we have laws and things that are supposed to protect children. But...I...” Grant sighs. “I mean, I haven't been through anything like that, not really, it's just...”

Fitz is looking at him, worry in his gentle blue eyes.

“A while back, there was this woman, Lori,” Grant says. “Sort of an acquaintance of...an acquaintance.” She was the younger sister of the ex-girlfriend of a friend of Trip's friend. Grant bites the inside of his cheek, eyes unfocused and staring at nothing. Now that he's brought this up, he can't think of a way to back out of it. “She drugged me, and...well, I had a girlfriend at the time, and when she found out what happened—I tried to apologise, but...she broke up with me.” He grimaces and looks down at Fitz, gently tracing Fitz's shoulder blades with his fingers. “It's not like Lori _hurt_ me, and I was an adult of course, so it's nothing like what you went through, but...I...” He doesn't even remember Lori's last name, if he's ever known it, and he hasn't seen her since, is pretty sure she doesn't even live in this country. He grins awkwardly, looking away and huffing out an almost laugh. “Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up.”

Fitz shakes his head, pulling himself upright so he can look Grant in the eye. “She _drugged_ you? That's—that's really not okay, Grant. It doesn't matter if you're an adult or if she physically hurt you; that's a _crime_.”

Grant shrugs. “I suppose...” He's never really thought about it that way. “But I guess my point in bringing it up was just that—I don't know—that I kind of know a bit of what it feels like to have someone just... _do_ things to me. I mean, even if I don't actually remember all of it.”

Fitz looks into Grant's eyes, sincere and resolute. “I'm very sorry that happened to you, Grant. You didn't deserve that, and you didn't deserve to be _blamed_ for it.”

Grant's face twists into something that's half-smile, half grimace. “But I'm _fine_ , though. I mean, it's not like...”

“Not like me.”

Grant presses his lips together in a grim approximation of a smile. “I guess not.”

“We can...” Fitz licks his lower lip. “I mean, if you want to...we could work it out? Together.”

“Yeah.” Grant grins, broad and bright. “I want to.” He definitely wants to. “And we'll go slow. We'll talk about it, and I won't push you—”

“I won't push you either.” Fitz is so adamant, so genuinely earnest.

“Thanks.” Grant leans forward to rest his forehead against Fitz's chest, and Fitz's hands find their way into his hair. “I appreciate that.”

“Would it be all right...” Fitz asks, “if I kissed you right now?”

Grant tilts his head back to look up at him. “That would be _very_ all right.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was the prompt: “Leo Fitz/Grant Ward. Leo was raped as a child and now shys away from sexual situations. At first Grant doesn't understand and is very insensitive then he finds out what Leo's been through. Fluff ensues.” Obviously, I've decided to ignore that 'very' and just made Grant somewhat insensitive.


End file.
